


Ginger and Spice

by LuckyREBD



Category: Invaders, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyREBD/pseuds/LuckyREBD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally a Christmas prompt for Ani_bester, old ficlet. "Decorating the Tree".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ginger and Spice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ani_bester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ani_bester/gifts).



The house smells like ginger.

Ann smiles, sitting on the rug in the living room and pulling out gaily coloured, shining ornaments from an old trunk. The smell reminds her of home, and she leans back to peek into the kitchen, watching her husband putter about, cleaning the mixing bowls from the cookies. He always made ginger molasses cookies since they took less sugar, and were fairly simple.

She had never quite gotten him out of the conservation state of mind, when it came to food. Though Tom had gotten fairly good at cooking, he had yet to master baking other than simple cookies, and one only slightly disastrous birthday cake. Ann was still curious as to why he said it had ‘gone better than the last time he was around a birthday cake’, but she didn’t pry. If Tom wanted to talk about it, he would. In time.  
Ann muffles a giggle with her hand, as she watches him pull the tray of cookies from the hot oven, hand bare and unharmed,

“Tom, you’ve forgotten a glove again. What if you were in the church’s kitchen making cookies?” He fumbles, nearly dropping the tray as her voice jolts him out of whatever reverie he had gotten trapped in.

“O-oh. Sorry, Ann.” There it is, she spots that shy and slightly goofy smile on his lips, and knows that at least it was a happy memory. Standing, she leaves the tangled string of lights on the floor and drifts into the kitchen, watching him spatula the cookies onto a cooling tray.

“No harm done,” Ann murmurs gently, “And look, they all turned out lovely this time around.” Her husband’s little swell of pride is a welcome sight, and she turns to look at the little, fabric-lined bags she had made for the Christmas goodies. With money tight, they had decided this would be a good way to give gifts for family and neighbours.

Gently nudging him from the kitchen, Ann chuckles softly, “Let me get the presents ready, then we can decorate the tree.”  
It isn’t until she hears her husband’s yelp of pain and the crunching of broken glass that she realizes the lights were still tangled on the living room floor. Dashing out, she finds him cursing liberally, on the ground a little away from the broken lights, already picking coloured glass shards from his foot.

“Christ! Ann, I’m sorry. I didn’t see them there.” He manages out through gritted teeth, as he checks to see if he got it all, “Oh great. I ruined the lights, and my blood ruined the carpet too.”

“It will be all right. We don’t need the lights, and we can clean the blood out of the carpet.” Crouching by him, mindful of the glass, Ann kisses his hair gently before bustling off to grab the first aid kit.

The decorations on the tree are sparse, and the topper had gotten unknowingly cracked when they first moved into their new home , and each time Tom spotted Ann looking at it forlornly the guilt stabbed at him. In the fading light of early nightfall, he curls up next to her on the couch by the fireplace, and wraps and arm around her shoulders with a small, ponderous smile.

“Close your eyes, Ann.” He whispers against her ear, and as she shivers from the warmth her eyes flutter shut.  
He subtly stretches out one arm, careful not to jolt or jostle her, and coaxes tiny globes of flame from the fireplace. Drawing them out until he has enough small, glowing lights, he lets them drift over to the tree, making sure to keep them from being too warm or touching.

Then, as their gentle flickering light brightens the room, twinkling merrily in the darkened room, he kisses her, “Open your eyes.”

“Merry Christmas, Ann.”


End file.
